


But Before Next Time...

by copyallcatsandacrobats (ordinaryalchemy)



Category: Psych
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn, shawn on top, unprotected sex (oral)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:40:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ordinaryalchemy/pseuds/copyallcatsandacrobats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's the first time. Lassiter, lonely and a little depressed, walks into a random bar to drown the sound of those annoying things called “feelings”; soon replacing that annoyance is Shawn Spencer, who, surprisingly, isn't that annoying for once. When Lassiter lets something about his personal life slip, Shawn is intrigued, and it quickly escalates into something neither of them has seen coming but cannot deny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Before Next Time...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to superstar subluxate for the edit! Please note the tags.

When Detective Lassiter went to a bar, particularly one he had never before patronized, he had a specific goal in mind. An agenda, an itinerary, a single-minded mission: to get utterly and completely blasted without having to worry about who might see him and who might try to get him to do the thing he detested above almost all others—to _talk_ , particularly about his _feelings_. 

He liked two or three of the cop bars in town for a knock or two before heading home every now and then, especially if he'd just closed a case and everyone else was buying, if the accolades were as free-flowing as the good scotch. Holding a crowd rightly spellbound with his thrilling tale of quick wits and bravery, of a moment of uncertainty as a criminal on the brink aimed a gun at a hostage a second before he stepped in and saved the day single-handedly—those were not _feelings_ , certainly not the type women always seemed to want to talk about, but they were the only sort of emotions that he would allow himself to display in public. Definitely not useless frustration with a stagnated case, another failed attempt to talk to Victoria, and an overall gloom in his spirit that he was forty percent sure had something to do with the weather. O'Hara had given him that look as they finished their paperwork that day, and he knew what it meant: beat feet or a fat chat. He had retreated, and now here he was at—what was the name of this place? It didn't matter; all that mattered was that he was in an area of town that he didn't normally frequent and that the only name he knew was Mr. Jack Daniels. 

Shawn Spencer bopped into Wendy's Wet Whistle at around eight o'clock that Friday night; he threw the bartender a grin as his eyes flashed around and over her, trying to ascertain what would work and what wouldn't, and just as he was about to flirt his way into a free drink, he stopped and raised his eyebrows at the man sitting slump-shouldered at the other end of the bar. Lassie? Maybe this was his scene and Shawn had unwittingly rolled up into his weekday watering hole. He glanced around and thought that probably wasn't it, although he didn't know the PD's head detective that well. 

“What can I get for you, honey?” the bartender asked him. Shawn glanced back at her and realized that she was older than he'd originally thought and that his normal tactics were not only hardly likely to garner him a free drink, but they were entirely likely to get him the ol' heave-ho. Good thing he'd double-talked Gus into buying lunch that day and so still had some cash; he didn't like to drink alone or at home, and he was bored. 

“I'm hoping you can get me something with a most delicious flavor,” he said and gave her a grin. 

Lassiter was working on his drink the way he did everything: methodically, purposefully. He did not like things out of order, and he was not a man who enjoyed surprises. Therefore, when Spencer plopped down on the stool next to him, he rolled his eyes and gulped his drink, both to avoid having to reply to the other man's cheery, “Hiya there, Lass!” and so he could leave, and soon. 

“Wow, I would never have taken this for your sort of digs,” Shawn said once it was clear that Lassie wasn't going to greet him in return. “Are you a regular here? Do you often wet your whistle at Wendy's?”

“I don't know what that means, nor do I want to.” Lassiter drained the rest of his glass. “And now that you're here, I'm no longer going to be.”

“Aw, c'mon Lassie, don't be trout-flavored toothpaste.” He nodded at Lassiter's empty glass. “Look, I'll even get the next round.”

“I'm not drinking with you, Spencer.”

“Well, not right now, that's true,” Shawn admitted. He held up one finger, removed the tiny straws from his drink, and finished it off in two big gulps and a teeny one. Then he signaled the bartender and gestured to Lassie's glassie as well as his own when she came over, thinking that he probably had enough money for one more round, and that maybe, hopefully, Lassie would get the one after that. “Whatever he's drinking, too, and make it distinguished.” He beamed at the detective as she took their glasses, certain that Lassie would now be forced to sit with him and finish off his next drink, and then a cold spike jutted into his brain, and he clapped a hand to his forehead. 

Lassiter saw Spencer's hand go to his head. “What?” he asked. “Did you have a vision that your presence isn't wanted? Because it's late.”

“Nope.” Spencer rubbed at his temple. “Icy drink—ice cream headache. But that's nothing round two won't fix.” He sat up straighter and gave a grin to the bartender when she brought back their glasses. Lassiter didn't pick his up, so Spencer nudged it toward him and then clinked it with the side of his own. “To Wendy,” he declared.

Well, it _was_ perfectly good whiskey that was just sitting there. Lassiter supposed he could stomach Spencer for ten more minutes. He reached for the glass, frowning a little. “Who's Wendy?”

Shawn shrugged, sipping more slowly on his second drink and savoring both the sweet iciness and the fact that he'd won and Lassie was still there—and now bar-honor-bound to buy him a reciprocal drink. “Presumably the bar wench who owns this fine tavern. You're knocking it back at Wendy's Wet Whistle tonight, buddy. Which means that you're _not_ a regular, and that you're just _here_ , drinking it up. What's the story, morning glory?” He lowered his voice. “Got your eye on yonder barmaid? I can see it: she's tall and blonde and brings you good cheer in a glass. Plus, if you date a bartender, the tips sort of get rolled up in what goes on between the sheets, not necessarily how heavy-handed she is with the bottle.”

“I'm not dating the bartender,” Lassiter said. He was half-convinced that Spencer's mouth would run on even if he was trapped in a dungeon for fourteen years.

“Not your type? Or is someone else pulling your trigger?”

Lassiter gulped his whiskey. “Nope. I just came here to drink, Spencer.”

“Fair enough,” Shawn said, and sipped at his own drink again. He matched Lassie gulp for gulp as they drank in silence, making a game of it: when Lassie set down his empty glass, Shawn's hit the bar at the exact same time, exactly as empty. Lassie seemed to notice the louder clunk their glasses made as they hit the wood simultaneously, and when he glanced at Shawn, Shawn raised his eyebrows innocently. 

Lassiter sighed and signaled the bartender again. “Another for him too,” he said, ignoring the pleased look on Spencer's face. Basic psychology and behavioral conditioning suggested he reward desired behavior in order to reinforce it, and, although he hadn't spent time with him other than his 'consultations' for cases, he'd never known Spencer to stay quiet for more than two minutes at a time, and his trap being closed certainly fell into the category of 'desired behavior'. The bartender brought them another round and he paid her, trying to think of something to say that wasn't personal at all. “It's been cloudy and rainy for days,” he complained abruptly. 

Spencer gave him an incredulous look. “The weather, Lassie? Really?”

Lassiter shrugged and tossed back some more whiskey. “I don't give a crap about sports and I can't talk with you about work, since you don't have any sort of official position within the department.”

“Women, then,” Spencer said decisively, and he glanced up toward the door, where a pair of middle-aged brunettes had just entered. “Oho, looky there: they look like they would be very impressed by your badge and gun.”

Lassiter shrugged. “I actually prefer women who _aren't_ impressed by them; they get bored when they find out how slow some days can be, and then it's a struggle to meet their expectations. It's not worth it.” Victoria had respected his desire to be a cop and his drive to make detective—at first—but she had never fawned over the mere idea that he carried a service pistol; she'd been impressed by his dedication and his perseverance. At first. 

“That makes sense,” Shawn said, thinking of a girl he'd dated who had initially been thrilled with his ability to read people and observe and deduce... and when he got bored with putting on a show for her every time they went out, she'd dumped him. He sipped his drink and wondered if Lassie had given up on dating, if he was lonely. “So, there's no one you're slipping your tie off for at night?”

Lassiter paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Is that a euphemism?” he asked.

Spencer glanced at him, and then he broke into a grin and snorted. “Hey, maybe, if you're into that? I just meant someone that liked listening to you recount how many boxes of evidence you scoured before finding the crucial piece of the puzzle.”

He shrugged again. “I don't like my time being wasted. I'm either up against that or too many personal issues while I'm trying to deal with work. Or there's just no one interested and I get shot down if I try.” It was probably a mistake to talk this openly with Spencer, but he was feeling expansive. It was either the booze or the idea that there was someone sitting next to him who was voluntarily listening but not prying, not begging to set him up with someone or even taking pity and suggesting they bring him along on a double blind date, like _some_ junior partners. It was probably the booze. 

“Ah. That sucks. Then you just end up getting fucked either way.”

Lassiter gazed down at his half-finished drink, debating whether or not he wanted another. He decided he probably did, even though this was his fourth. “I like getting fucked,” he said mildly. 

Shawn looked at Lassie, slightly confused. Who seriously enjoyed getting screwed over when it came to dating and relationships? It was only the worst thing ever, after soap that wouldn't lather and being left with nothing but Tootsie Rolls in the bottom of your Halloween bag. Then the other, more obvious meaning flashed across his thoughts, serving to confuse him more. Lassie? Liked... getting it? 

“You... really?” Shawn asked, his voice almost hushed. Carlton Lassiter radiated masculinity, with his eleventy-bazillion guns and his 'Fuck You, I'm In Charge' attitude, his Republicanism, and his deep love of Clint Eastwood and Chuck Norris. Maybe that admiration was actually a little more than simple hero-worship? Amazing. Shawn had thought about doing the do with another dude before (he was confident that most guys did, and he had internet polls to back him up) just as a point of curiosity, but he never had. And Lassie had said that he _liked_ it, not just that he did it. “Why?” Shawn asked now, fascinated.

Lassiter looked over at Spencer, seeing that he really was surprised, not just being a smart ass or making fun of him. Still, that runaway mouth of his was due to take off any second. He looked directly into his face, daring him to make something of it. “Because it makes me come,” he said. 

Shawn blinked, and then he had to drop his eyes away from the intensity he saw on Lassiter's face, which gave weight to his declaration. Lassie snorted softly and sipped his drink again while Shawn gazed at the bottles on shelves behind the bar and thought about it. Obviously, it must feel good, or people wouldn't continue to do it. He wasn't sure if he ever could, but everyone was different in what got them going, and for some... “Do you do it a lot?” Shawn asked. He realized a second later that he was probably being nosy, but damn it, this was interesting. The closest he'd come to a frank talk about gay sex before had been in high school, when Gus had let it slip that someone in the boys' choir had a boyfriend at another school; while Shawn had been a little fascinated then as well, Gus had insisted that it was none of their business and he wouldn't speculate, even hypothetically. 

“It may surprise you,” Lassiter said dryly, “but I'm not exactly in high demand from people of either sex.”

Shawn thought about that, too. “That is kind of surprising,” he said after a moment. Lassie turned his head far enough to glare at him, and Shawn realized that he was assuming that Shawn was making fun of him. Not knowing each other all that well and not being on the greatest of terms, it was probably a fair assumption. “No,” Shawn said, “I mean it. You're, like... you have a cool, important job, and you make a difference with the whole city, and you're totally badass taking down criminals. And you're all... tall and not bad-looking at all. I mean, you're—” He stopped, unsure of where he was even going with that.

Lassiter snorted again. He didn't know if Spencer was just trying to make up for the awkwardness of asking about his sexual preferences or whether he was just rambling for the sake of making verbal noises. And maybe this was also due to the fact that he'd almost finished his fourth drink, but he was actually not that bothered by being around him right now. In fact, he was a little amused. “It's nice that you think so,” he said. “But that doesn't mean anyone is interested in going to bed with me.”

Shawn drummed his fingertips on the bar. He glanced around for the bartender to order another round because he was suddenly quite thirsty and his glass (and Lassie's too—he'd tossed the rest of it back after delivering his last statement) was empty, but she was serving two middle-aged women at the other end of the bar. Lassie had been sitting in the corner when Shawn spotted him, and with Shawn on the stool next to him, they had this whole end to themselves. This was a nice bar: no ear-blasting bad radio rock, no frat guys jumping around and yelling—just a juke in the corner mellowly playing something that sounded like Steve Miller Band or The Eagles. Shawn didn't know 70s rock, not like his dad did, anyway—Henry could have told him what the song was and who played it, which album it appeared on and what year it was released, and he probably would have added a figure that included how many arrests he'd made that year. Lassie made a lot of arrests. He was sometimes very quick with his handcuffs. He'd once put them on Shawn... and had wrapped his arms around him and lifted him off the ground while trying to get him into the police cruiser when he was in the middle of a psychic vision and solving a case in front of everyone. Lassie was strong. And... striking. In several ways. 

“I will,” Shawn said, the words escaping his mind and his mouth on an exhale. 

Lassiter had just been looking up to signal the bartender for another, and he turned his head sharply to look at Spencer, who couldn't have possibly said what he'd just seemed to have said. He narrowed his eyes and searched his face, looking for the joke, but he couldn't find it. Spencer just looked back at him, his own eyes a little wide, his fingers now still next to his glass, although he'd been tapping them a moment ago. “Will _what_?” Lassiter asked him. 

Shawn didn't answer right away, although several things came to mind and wanted to come pouring from his mouth at once. No, this required careful consideration, and, contrary to what most people who knew him seemed to think, Shawn was capable of that, although his instincts usually gave him a sense of immediacy. This time, they warned him that he was in danger of running flat-footed through a minefield toward any goals or purpose he might have and that he needed to slow down and think about where he was going to step next if he at all wanted to reach the finish line. 

Shawn knew that Lassie was a trained investigator, and that he was good at it; he was also good at interviewing witnesses and interrogating suspects. He was good at setting and disguising his traps—he could be calculating and manipulative when he decided it was the best way to go, but in dealing with Shawn, he never pulled his punches. He said exactly what he thought and what he meant, and he had no patience for finesse, either because he didn't care enough or because he thought Shawn wasn't worth it. In almost every interaction Lassie had had with him, he was blunt and to the point. Shawn could appreciate that—it left little to no wiggle room for crossed wires and missed connections. Shawn decided that he thought it would be super-hot to make Lassie come while railing him: those blue, blue eyes looking up at him, slightly hazy, his mouth open and panting and saying his name, and then his body clenching on him while he moaned. 

Shit. He was getting hard.

He turned more toward the other man, who was still watching him suspiciously, in order to show that his thoughts were open and that he was telling the truth. He met Lassiter's eyes and held them, speaking softly but clearly. “I'll fuck you,” he said simply.

Lassiter's eyebrows went up a little before he could stop them and force a neutral expression back on his face. His eyes drifted away from Spencer's as he saw the bartender turn around, and he signaled her to refresh both of their drinks. While she nodded and turned around again for the Jack Daniels and the Smirnoff, Lassiter considered telling Spencer to go home. It was really what he _should_ say—this conversation was getting out of hand. Which was a little annoying, seeing as he actually hadn't been minding Spencer being here, talking to him like a normal person for once, getting along for the first time. 

And Spencer was straight. The way he looked at O'Hara and the way he'd sidled up to the insurance-fraud woman who'd had the nerve to join Lassiter's Civil War re-enactment for the purposes of crime proved that he liked women. Lassiter had never once observed him expressing interest in men, either as a whole or one-by-one, not _seriously_. He was sure that Spencer had never been with a man. What he wasn't so sure of was what was going on at the moment, not with how quickly the talk had gone from moderately-chummy 'it sucks to be alone' talk to ' _I'll fuck you_ '. As if _that_ would be a good idea. As if he meant it, although he _had_ stopped making stupid remarks and was just sitting calmly, waiting.

The bartender brought Lassiter a new whiskey and Spencer a new something-yellow-with-vodka (Lassiter had at first assumed he was drinking Screwdrivers, but the carton she'd gotten out of a mini-fridge wasn't the orange juice he'd seen her use in a Fuzzy Navel). “Here you go, guys,” she said, smiling. “Get you anything else?”

Spencer flashed her a quick grin back, proving again everything that Lassiter had just been thinking. “Thanks—no, we're good.”

“Great, let me know if I can get you anything else.” She turned again and went back to the women, whom she seemed to know.

Spencer tasted his drink and seemed to find it to his satisfaction, as he downed half of it in one gulp. “Can you just be serious?” Lassiter asked him finally. 

Shawn licked his lips. He'd had to instruct the bartender on the making of his _Psychdriver_ , a concoction of his own device that consisted of a mix of pineapple juice and lemon-lime soda with vodka, but since then she'd continued to make him perfect ones. “I am serious,” he said, and it was the truth. More and more he meant it.

“I don't go to bed with straight guys,” Lassiter said flatly. 

Also fair, Shawn thought. “I'm not talking about a relationship here,” he said. “More like—”

Lassiter cut him off before he could make a stupid movie reference that he probably wouldn't get anyway. “I know,” he said crossly, staring down at his drink. “But if you're not interested in men, it doesn't work; that's how sexuality operates. You won't be able to go through with it, and it'll be awkward and unfulfilling because you either won't be able to get hard, or you won't stay that way.”

Spencer shifted a little on his stool. “Um... I kinda already am from thinking about it,” he said in a low voice. 

Well... fuck. Lassiter slid his eyes over to him, and when he saw Spencer lick his lips again, Lassiter couldn't help his eyes from dropping down to them for just a moment. Spencer had a nice body... that was just fact. He was aesthetically pleasing. That didn't mean anything. The idea that he was sitting there with his dick getting hard just from thinking about fucking him? That could easily just be from the mere idea of sex. But if it wasn't—if he meant it? Lassiter realized that he was starting to think stupid, terrible thoughts... like about how long it'd been since someone had really laid into him, how hard he'd come, how good it had felt and how much he missed that sensation. How Spencer might feel, his naked body pressed against Lassiter's own, his hard cock pushing into him... he'd just said he was already hard. Sitting next to him and hard for him. 

“Really,” Lassiter said dryly. 

Damn, Lassie had a good poker face when he really wanted to keep the mask on. Shawn thought that they should play cards sometime—it might actually make it interesting. He honestly couldn't tell how hot or cold Lassie was feeling about his proposition, but he felt more than ever that he was down for Boogie Town, that he was raring to do the No-Pants Dance with Lassie. “If you don't want to, then I'll just go home,” he said softly. “But... I'd rather go home with you. If you're questioning my sincerity when it comes to, um, closing the deal, well... I've got papers ready to sign.”

Lassiter glanced at Spencer again, searching his face for traces of uncertainty or hesitation. He saw none. He tried reminding himself how fucking annoying Spencer could be, with his fake-psychic claims and his proclivity for behaving like an attention-seeking jackass... but he wasn't doing that right now. He really did look like he meant it... and with his pupils grown large and his face a little pinker than it had been even a few minutes ago, he looked aroused. He looked... _good_. “And just what the hell makes you think I'd even be interested in going to bed with _you_?” Lassiter asked.

Shawn paused, not sure if he should be hurt or relieved. After a second, he realized he was neither. Disappointed, maybe. “Nothing specifically,” he said, watching Lassie carefully. “So... you're saying you're not? That I'm all aflutter for no reason?”

Silence.

“It's not for no reason,” Shawn said softly, looking right at Lassie. Lassie looked back at him blandly... and then Shawn saw his eyes flick down to his mouth. He licked his lips again, more slowly than before. 

“Are you sure, Spencer?” Lassiter asked after a moment, keeping his voice low. “I don't have the patience for any of your stupid fucking around.”

“Definitely,” Shawn said at once, feeling warm and a little shaky, because holy fuck was this really happening? “The only fucking around I'm proposing is drop-dead—or just your pants—serious.”

“I am not your experiment,” Lassiter continued, narrowing his eyes. The confusion he then saw on Spencer's face quelled any misgivings that were still holding him back and he gave in, his breath starting to come faster as his heart beat sped up, his hands itching to slide underneath Spencer's shirt and feel his warm skin... to touch him, taste him.

“That's good?” Shawn said, blinking. “Because I hardly had time to get a clinical trial set up. We'll have to take a raincheck for the double-blind side of things, but I might not say no to a blindfold. Which, as we all know, can lead to a good rousing game of Marco Polo.”

“Spencer.”

Shawn shut up and looked at Lassie, who was gazing back at him with his eyes direct and intent, completely focused on him. That might have made him defensive before, and he would likely have jumped to the challenge by starting to tease him or being otherwise obnoxious, but not tonight, not now. Right now he kind of liked it; it was making him tingly in all the right ways. “Yes, Lassie?” he asked softly, staring back into his eyes. 

Lassiter had one more second of hesitation, but just one: Spencer could be an annoying dick... so it was past time to put it to use. “Let's go,” he said. Spencer was off the stool and on his feet in an instant, and as Lassiter reached for his wallet to pay for their last round of drinks and to tip the bartender, he smiled. 

There were two cabs sitting at the curb across the street when they exited the bar; Shawn tried to allay some of his fresh anxiety by attempting to take charge, grabbing Lassie's hand and tugging him toward one. When he felt the other man resist, he glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows, making eye contact and gripping his hand a little more firmly, pulling again. Lassie saw the cab and Shawn's intentions at the same time, and for just a second he resisted still... and then he seemed to decide to give in for the moment, to allow Shawn to take the lead. Shawn pulled him across the street and up to one of the cabs, barely resisting the urge to shove him inside and then straddle him, diving into the new situation with a huge splash in the backseat of a taxi; instead, he recognized that Lassie was likely to only give him so much leeway while they were still in public, and he sat next to him on the bench seat, nearly vibrating with anticipation and want. 

Lassiter gave the cab driver his address, noticing that Spencer was deliberately pressing his leg against him. As the driver looked over his shoulder for a break in traffic to pull out into the road, Lassiter glanced down at Spencer's thigh and imagined laying his hand on the inside of it, high up, squeezing and feeling how warm and firm it would be. He wanted to, but in just a few minutes they would be at his apartment, where he could—hopefully, as long as Spencer didn't get cold feet or back out—touch every part of him, with his hands and with his mouth. When they passed under street lights, he received bright flashes of Spencer's face, always turned to him and looking at him with open lust. Lassiter shifted on the seat and tried to decide where to touch him or kiss him first, but the only answer that repeatedly came to him was _everywhere_.

The cab stopped at Lassie's apartment and Shawn threw the door open, wanting to run inside and start stripping immediately, but although he was confident that he could get inside Lassie's apartment without a key, it would be terrible manners at this point. He waited on the sidewalk while Lassiter threw some money to the driver—enough to effectively dismiss him—and when he started for the door, Shawn was right on his heels. 

Lassiter unlocked the door quickly, going inside far enough to allow Spencer in, and then he turned sharply and finally got his hands on him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back so that his body slammed the front door for him. Spencer looked a little surprised, and Lassiter grinned again, pressing him hard against the door and breathing out once, giving him one more second to change his mind and rabbit away, before leaning his head down and kissing him. Spencer tried to hiss in a breath but couldn't, and he didn't seem to mind. He moaned softly and opened his mouth at once, his tongue tentative at first before he sank into it, putting his hands on Lassiter's hips and then pulling him forward, grinding their crotches together. They were both fully aroused now, so hard that it was a wonder they were still completely dressed. Lassiter gave a low sigh of satisfaction as he let go of Spencer's shoulders and trailed his hands down his chest, inside his open button-front shirt and over his nipples. Spencer made a sound that indicated he liked that a lot, and Lassiter wasted no more time in getting his hands under his t-shirt and onto his bare skin, which was just as he'd imagined it—smooth and warm. His tongue, so quick every time he opened his mouth for as long as Lassiter had known him, was soft and eager, tasting faintly sweet, like pineapple. 

When Lassie's hands slipped underneath his shirt and grazed up his stomach and chest, Shawn felt his cock twitch in his pants; he marveled again that this was happening, although he was still a little nervous, not only because this was going to be his first time with a guy, but also this was _Lassie_ , and the manner by which they both understood this was going to happen put Shawn in the driver's seat big time. He'd probably do well to shift them into second gear about now, reminding himself to pay attention to the tune of the engine to figure out how fast they were going and when to shift again. 

“Lassie,” he breathed softly, trying not to gasp for air when they finally broke apart—only with mouths, though, seeing as it would probably take the Jaws of Life to get their hands off of each other now. “Man. Holy shit. Bedroom?”

“Yes,” Lassiter groaned, because now that he'd gotten a taste of Shawn Spencer he was dying to get his mouth back on him again. However, making out against the door was only going to get them so far. “This way.” He reluctantly let go of Spencer and turned, thankful that his bedroom was the first door along the hall.

Shawn was right on Lassie's heels as they raced across the living room and toward a hallway. As Lassie opened a door, Shawn took a second to admire his ass and think about how it was going to be once their clothes were shed and he could have his hands everywhere. He followed Lassie into the room and darted his eyes around quickly, ascertaining that the bed was just a few steps from the door, before he grabbed the other man in mid-turn and shoved him toward the bed. 

Lassiter hadn't been expecting a push, and he stumbled slightly before whipping around; Spencer was right there, and he gave him another push so that his ass landed just on the edge of his bed. Before he could say anything, Spencer fell to his knees in front of him, sliding his arms out of his button-front shirt and then yanking off his t-shirt. There was scant light from the half-open door to the bathroom, where a night-light always shone, and Lassiter felt his cock throb in his pants at the sight of Spencer's bare chest in front of him. He put both hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him again, feeling more encouraged about the way this was going to end when Spencer kissed him back eagerly, using one hand to nudge his knees apart so that he could kneel between them. Lassiter drew his hands up to Spencer's neck, then his face when Spencer leaned close enough to press his stomach against Lassiter's groin. Spencer's hands were wandering too, and when he got the fingers of one hand close enough to his crotch to gently squeeze his dick, Lassiter let out a hungry moan. 

Shawn felt Lassie moan into his mouth and he couldn't help but grunt back in pleasure. He was so wound up that his fingers fumbled a little as he tried using just his left hand to undo Lassie's belt and get his zipper down, and he had to let go of the nicely huge, hard cock in his right hand in order to get them out of the way. Lassie stopped kissing him long enough to lift up off the edge of the bed so that Shawn could yank his pants down to his knees; Shawn then took a couple of seconds to consider what a dick looked like from this angle before rising up on his knees, closing his right hand around the base of it, bending his neck down, and tentatively licking the head. He tried it again, going slowly, swirling his tongue all around the head and then starting halfway down the underside of the shaft and licking to the tip. 

Lassiter sucked in a sharp breath. “You don't have to,” he said, but his voice was nowhere near as strong and steady as it usually was. Spencer's grip was perfect, and his tongue was very wet and soft. It was difficult for him to hold still, to not twist his fingers in Spencer's perfectly gelled hair and yank him down while thrusting up into his hot, fast mouth.

Spencer raised his head enough to look directly at him, holding his eyes while one hand stroked him up and down. “Shh,” he breathed, and grinned, and Lassiter kissed him again.

Shawn ran the flat of his palm over the head of Lassie's dick, which caused him to give up another low sound of pleasure—which, in turn, turned Shawn's cranks just a little more, something he never would have expected to hit him so hard with wanting. He ducked his head down again and took Lassie's cock in his mouth and sank down, opening his jaws wide while trying to keep his lips on it. He added a little suction as he pulled back, something that got him another moan and a twitch. He almost grinned but realized he couldn't with his mouth full of dick, so he just went down again, thinking that having Lassie's hard cock in his mouth was actually really hot. He did it for a couple of minutes, until his neck started to get tired (he'd never realized what hard work a good blowjob actually was—cheers and kudos were evidently due to everyone he'd ever known that had given him one), and then he looked up again to see that Lassie had leaned back on his hands, his face tilted up toward the ceiling, his chest heaving as he tried to hold on. Now Shawn could grin, and he did. This was fun, this was _awesome_ , and it was about to get even better. 

“Lass,” he said softly. “Where are your condoms?”

Lassiter pointed at the beside table. “There.” Spencer stood up, and Lassiter sat up straighter, grabbing onto his hip with one hand while the other quickly popped the button on his jeans and he could finally get them off him. Spencer helped, getting them down and off—leaving him completely naked except for his socks—and then he nearly lost his balance when Lassiter scooted back on the bed and pulled him along, continuing to yank him forward until he was lying flat on his back and Spencer was straddling his chest, his cock jutting out in front of him and almost— _almost_ —close enough for Lassiter to lick. This wasn't horseshoes and almost didn't count, though; he put both hands on Spencer's hips and pulled one more time, and his cock finally jammed into Lassiter's mouth. 

Spencer fell forward, holding himself up by his hands, and he moaned loudly as Lassiter took his cock all the way down and hummed in satisfaction. He still had both hands on Spencer's hips, and he pushed back enough for his cock to start to draw out of his mouth, and then pulled again, sinking it deep. Spencer tried to thrust forward and back himself, but Lassiter didn't let him—he dug his fingers into Spencer's hips hard, holding him where he wanted him, and he fucked his own mouth with Spencer's cock exactly the way he wanted it. Spencer seemed to realize that he wasn't the one in control here—as if he ever had been—and he relaxed, allowing himself to be moved and sucked, moaning at first and then whimpering and starting to writhe after a few minutes, and Lassiter knew he was getting too close: he'd have to stop if he was actually going to get Spencer's dick inside of him. He pushed him back a final time, sucking hard until Spencer's dick popped out of his mouth with a loud slurp.

“Holy schnikes,” Shawn managed, trying not to show that his legs were trembling. He'd been so close to the edge, and Lassie was holding him so tightly as he pulled him back and forth, that he wouldn't have been able to hold on for one more minute before coming in his mouth. He wondered for just a second if he'd ever get the chance to do that—like, next time, maybe—and then he briskly shook his head and made a dive for the bedside table that Lassie said held his condoms. He switched on the lamp because he wanted to find the supplies in a hurry and besides, actually seeing what he was doing with Lassie would make it even hotter. When he turned around with one packet and a small tube of lube in his hands, Lassie had thrown off the rest of his clothes and scooted up a little farther, his head near the pillows.

“You know what to do with that?” he asked, somewhere between smug and sarcastic.

Shawn held up the condom. “Balloons,” he said, and held up the Astroglide. “And balloon goo. It's about to get poppin' in here.”

Lassiter gave him a look. “Shut up and fuck me, if you're going to.”

Spencer seemed speechless for a couple of seconds, which made Lassiter grin, and then he gestured at him. “Okay, well... turn over?”

“No.”

“No?” Spencer repeated indignantly. “Then how am I supposed to...?”

Lassiter's grin widened and he folded his hands behind his head. “Figure it out, genius.”

 _Smug bastard_ , Shawn thought. Lassie was probably goading him so that he'd do something wrong and embarrassing, since he had zero experience here—but then how would that be conducive to getting a good fuck? Ahh, that was it: Lassie was goading him so that he'd get mad and give it to him hard, hard enough to make him come. Shawn got back onto the bed and moved closer; as he did, Lassie seemed to relent slightly, and he spread his legs enough for Shawn to kneel between them. Shawn flipped open the cap of the lube and squirted some onto his first two fingers, and then he looked up uncertainly. Lassie rolled his eyes and grabbed the pillow underneath his head; after some maneuvering, he had it situated under his hips, which propped him up at what Shawn knew immediately was the right angle—he could tell by the way his dick was almost perfectly lined up with Lassie's assie. He wanted to slick up his dick and dive right in, but he knew that wasn't right, wasn't the next step in order. Lassie had to have things done in order, and now was not the time to make an argument for results versus directions. He pushed one finger inside him, starting slowly and then holding still when it was all the way sunk inside, feeling how hot and tight it was. He glanced up to check Lassie's face, and when he saw that intense, focused look again, Shawn gave him a grin as he pulled back the one finger and then pushed forward again with two. 

Lassiter couldn't help a low moan when Spencer got two fingers all the way inside him; it had been a long time since he'd been with a man and he could feel his body stretching to accommodate the invasion. Spencer pulled back a little, pushed both fingers all the way inside him again, and then his other hand slid up Lassiter's thigh and gripped his dick again. Lassiter involuntarily clenched down on his fingers and Spencer wiggled them, rubbing up against a spot inside him that caused another moan.

“Oh, yeah,” Spencer breathed. “Did I stick the landing? What do the judges say?”

Lassiter gave him a look, which was a little difficult as Spencer rubbed both the head of his cock and just about the perfect spot inside of him. “Three,” he said. 

Shawn blinked. He'd thought he was doing better than _three_ —especially with the how hard Lassie's dick was and how he'd moaned when Shawn stuck two fingers inside him—and then he got it. He pulled both fingers back most of the way and added a third, watching his face carefully. Lassie closed his eyes and moaned again softly; he still felt a little tight on the inside, so Shawn jerked his dick faster while stretching him open. His own dick throbbed again and Shawn bit his lip. “Lassie, let me know when you're ready,” he said. “I mean, I don't want to hurt you, but... fuck...”

Lassiter opened his eyes and regarded Spencer coolly. “I can take whatever you've got,” he said. Both of Spencer's hands stilled and his eyebrows came up a little, and then he grinned and took both hands back. He wiped one on the sheet and tore open the condom, rolled it on, and scooted forward on his knees until he was in position. Lassiter lifted his legs slightly to give him more room, and then he watched his face while Spencer licked his lips, placed one hand on Lassiter's thigh, and kept the other hand on his dick to guide the head of it inside him. _Yes_. Lassiter set his heels on Spencer's back and attempted to pull him forward, but Spencer resisted, the fingers of the hand on Lassiter's thigh gripping his leg tightly. 

“Oh, Lassie,” he said in a low voice. “This is more awesome than all of the Bon Jovi albums combined, even _Slippery When Wet_.”

Like that would be difficult, Lassiter thought. “Not yet it isn't,” he said impatiently. He bent his legs a little more and reached down at the same time, grabbing Spencer behind the knees and yanking on him. Spencer's dick thrust into him as he fell forward, catching himself with his hands and moaning loudly. Lassiter grunted in pleasure himself, putting his heels back onto Spencer's back and urging him forward still, so that his dick sunk all the way inside him. _Fuck_ yes—Spencer had a nice dick, and now that Lassiter had gotten it all the way in him, it was time to see if he could use it properly. 

Shawn looked up, and he was just bending down a little to kiss Lassie again when the other man squeezed his thighs and pushed him back a little. Shawn began to pull away, confused, but then Lassie moved him forward again by pulling on his thighs and digging his heels into his back, and Shawn got it: he was going to move how Lassie wanted, fuck him like he wanted. He gave in and jerked his hips back and forth fast and hard, just how Lassie indicated, and before long he was struggling to hold on, his fingers twisted in the sheets as he moaned uncontrollably and stared into those intense blue eyes. He tried to set the pace himself, trying to show that he could be just as good as Lassie wanted him to be, but when he tried to pull back, Lassie gave him a stern look and yanked him forward again. 

“Lassie,” he breathed. “Let me—” He paused to moan when Lassie clenched down on his dick “—let me fuck you. I'll be good, I'll be _so_ good. I want to make you come.” 

“You move how I make you and I will,” Lassiter told him. 

Spencer suddenly darted his head down and attached his lips to one of Lassiter's nipples, running his tongue over it and teasing it to a point, edging his teeth around it. Lassiter stopped moving him, unable to pull him back without losing his mouth. The sensations made his cock jerk, which made him clench down on the dick in his ass, which _also_ made his cock jerk, and he bit his lip, wanting to resume the fucking yet unwilling to break the hold Spencer had on him. Spencer took one hand off the bed, holding himself up with just one while the other grazed along the shaft of Lassiter's dick. 

Lassiter moaned again and squirmed on Spencer's cock, and he could feel Spencer grin against his chest. He huffed out an annoyed sigh, which tried to turn into another moan. “Fine,” he managed, and let go of Spencer's thighs, bringing both arms up to grab him around the sides. “Fuck me, then.”

Shawn flicked his tongue over Lassie's nipple, and then he looked up and grinned again. “In a minute.” Before Lassie's face could turn annoyed and impatient again, Shawn moved to his other nipple while his fingers loosely gripped Lassie's dick and slid down it until he had his balls in the palm of his hand. He felt Lassie clench on him again and heard him make a soft “Mmmmm” sound, but he was no longer trying to move Shawn back and forth and fuck himself with Shawn's dick, so Shawn decided it was time to come through on his promise. He rose up until he was balanced on his knees, and then he held onto one of Lassie's raised legs with one hand for balance while the other started sliding up and down his dick. He started to fuck him like Lassie had moved him earlier, in short, quick thrusts, and then he mixed it up by throwing in two or three slow thrusts, pulling out almost all the way and shoving forward again until he was balls-deep inside him. 

“Fuck,” Lassiter said. He'd had to let go of Spencer when he backed up enough to get good leverage to lay into him, and now he grabbed handfuls of the bed sheet while Spencer started railing him, tossing in a few slower thrusts before going hard again, all the while jerking his dick. He was going to come, and soon, with Shawn Spencer's dick in his ass, and it was going to be _good_. “Spencer,” he said. 

“Lassie,” Spencer breathed.

“Fuck me,” Lassiter ordered.

Spencer shoved his dick all the way inside him again and again. “Call... me... Shawn.”

Lassiter started to roll his eyes, but Spencer squeezed his dick _just right_ and he could feel his orgasm building, expanding, almost ready to break open and overcome him. “Fuck, fuck,” he panted. “Spencer— _Shawn_ —fuckmeShawn!”

Shawn had already realized that his earlier thought, that it would be hot to make Lassie come while fucking him, was going to be true, but he had no idea just _how_ ball-bustingly hot until Lassie said his name, cried it out loud. Shawn gave him everything he had, knowing he had only seconds before he came himself, and when Lassie's eyes rolled back he knew he'd made it: there was slick, warm come in his hand and Lassie's chest heaved. Shawn only just managed to put a hand on the mattress to catch himself as he fell forward, jerking hips forward twice more as he came. He held still when it was over, trying to catch his breath and feeling the aftershocks of pleasure making him tingle; he also didn't want to pull out of Lassie, didn't want it to be over.

Lassiter got his breath back first, and he let out a big, contented sigh. Then he looked up at Spencer, who had clearly finished himself yet hadn't pulled out of him, and raised one eyebrow slightly. “What,” he said, “are you going to sleep there?”

Spencer grinned. “I could,” he said, and then he laid his head down on Lassiter's chest. “See? Fuzzy and cozy. And not even that much more hairy than my pillow.”

“Spencer.”

Shawn recognized the warning in Lassie's tone and he raised up again, carefully pulling out and backing up. He carefully pulled off the condom and dropped it into a wastebasket near the bedside table, and then he stretched, feeling pleasantly sleepy and post-coital. “Wow,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and grinning. “That was awesome. I had a feeling I'd be into that, even if I didn't get to try everything.” He thought about the obvious things he hadn't yet experienced, and then he shrugged. “Oh well. Next time.” Lassie had just tossed the pillow he'd had under his hips near the head of the bed again and he looked at Shawn sharply; Shawn realized not only what it sounded like he was saying, but that he was likely going to be kicked out onto the street within the next ten seconds. “Um,” he said. “I just—I mean, uh—”

It was a combination of everything—including the alcohol, the hour, the good fuck, and the wide-eyed smart mouth (with the _great_ mouth) in his bedroom—that made Lassiter realize that the grey bubble he'd been living in had been well and truly popped. He lay back down and stretched out, sighing contentedly. “Spencer,” he said softly. “Shut up. Can you do that?”

Spencer stopped blabbering awkwardly and nodded, his face solemn.

“Good,” Lassiter said. “Then hit that light, keep your mouth closed, and go to sleep.”

Shawn couldn't help but to grin again; he did as he was told, switching the lamp off and sliding between the sheets of Lassie's bed. They weren't scrunched up together but their arms were touching, and after a few moments of silence, Shawn turned on his side, facing Lassie, and edged just a little closer. “How long do you _really_ want my mouth to stay closed?” he whispered.

Lassiter smiled in the dark. “Until next time,” he said.


End file.
